


disorderly, and marvelous, and ours

by the_everqueen



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alana is Will's therapist, Neurodivergent Character(s), Non-binary character, Other, bi4bi, figuring out gender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26205985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_everqueen/pseuds/the_everqueen
Summary: Bev comes home to find Will trying on her clothes. They talk about it.
Relationships: Will Graham/Beverly Katz
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	disorderly, and marvelous, and ours

Bev has had better days. 

By the time she leaves the lab and starts the drive home, she wants nothing more than a long hot shower and maybe a large pizza. Then she remembers that Will is staying at hers tonight. She’s still getting used to the idea of a boyfriend who lives with her part-time—it took so long to convince Will that she wanted to date him, much less share space with him. They haven’t worked out what a long-term living situation might be—she kind of likes her apartment and its convenient nearness to both work and her favorite take-out places, and Will likes his death-trap in the middle of nowhere—but in the meantime she enjoys their compromise. Usually. Except that tonight she feels gross from hours of scraping carpet fibers for semen and saliva, and she sort of just wants to eat enough cheese to aggravate her mild lactose intolerance and then fall asleep. 

At least Will isn’t chatty. It’s not like they haven’t spent an evening after a grueling case together watching mindless TV and falling asleep on her couch. Hell, Will had lectures today, he’s probably exhausted, too. 

So Bev is surprised to find the living-slash-dining area empty. She flicks on the lights, drops her keys on the table. It smells like pepperoni in here: she checks the fridge and finds a mostly-full box of pizza.  _ Score _ . Having a boyfriend is so damn useful. She snags a cold slice. “Will?”

No answer. Maybe he fell asleep early. Sometimes lecture days do that to him. Like, Bev thought  _ she _ was an introvert before they met. She nudges open the bedroom door.

And finds her boyfriend standing in front of the mirror wearing nothing but lacy underwear and one of her button-up blouses.

Will finds her eyes in the mirror and flinches.

“I can explain.”

“Aw, no fashion show? Also…are those my briefs?” 

Will flushes. “Thought you’d be later,” he mumbles, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

Bev snickers. “I guess we’re past the ‘stealing each other’s clothes’ phase. Though to be fair, your flannels are  _ very _ soft.”

He looks at her through lowered lashes, considering. Bev sometimes has a hard time with facial expressions—she’s better at fine details like textile composition or blood splatter—but she recognizes the wary look from witnessing Will’s interactions with other people. He doesn’t usually level it at  _ her _ . She flaps her pizza crust at him. “What? Don’t get your—my—panties in a twist.” She cocks her head, letting her gaze travel down to where the V of his hips is prominent above the eyelet waistband. “Although you could probably find a pair that’d fit you better. Like, not to inflate your ego, but those aren’t really suited to your measurements.”

He winces. “Sorry. I can replace them.”

“S’fine,” she says through a mouthful of cheese. God, she’s  _ starving _ . “I’m more of a thong girl, you should know that.”

“I haven’t—I don’t go through your things. Other times.”

She shrugs. “I know.”

“You—what?”

“I think I’d notice if you were moving stuff around, Graham. You kind of leave a trail of dog hair everywhere you go.”

“Okay.”

“…Is this something you need to talk about?”

Will quickly shakes his head. “Not yet. I was just…curious.”

“I have a follow-up question somewhere, but—“ she yawns “—in the interest of open and honest communication, I’m beat. So can we wait until the morning to have a discussion?”

“Yeah. I can sleep on the couch, if you want.”

“Right now I want a hot shower and then for my boyfriend to spoon me.”

The corner of his mouth twitches down at the word  _ boyfriend _ , but Bev figures he’s in that weird, self-flagellation headspace. She adds, “Thanks for the pizza.”

“Figured you’d be hungry.”

“Brilliant deduction.” That gets her an almost-smile. “I’m gonna jump in the shower, but when I get out: spoons.”

When she emerges, Will is back in his own boxers and undershirt. He gives her a tentative smile; Bev flops down on the bed and tugs his arm over her. He’s holding himself like maybe he’ll need to pull away at any moment, and she snuggles against him until his body relaxes a fraction. 

“We’ll talk in the morning,” she assures him. He makes a soft noise in answer, but Bev is already sliding toward sleep.

  
  
  


“So, about that conversation?”

Will groans. He’s hunched over his cup of coffee, eyes bleary. “We don’t have to.”

“I didn’t know you were into lace.”

“It’s not a sex thing.” 

That comes out sharper than either of them expected. Will flushes, curling in on himself. Bev raises an eyebrow.

“Noted,” she says. “You said you were curious. Can I ask what about?”

Will shrugs one shoulder. Bev thinks maybe he’s not going to answer, but then he offers, “Something that came up with Alana.”

She hums. Will doesn’t talk about his sessions with Dr. Bloom—at most he’ll make an oblique reference to his scheduled appointment, as a reminder he might be home late. Bev thinks he’s embarrassed; word around the BAU is that Will’s consultation gig was conditional on him attending therapy. Will has never said anything to confirm or deny the rumors, and Bev feels weird asking him about it. 

He takes a sip of coffee, watching her over the rim. 

“Okay,” Bev says, when the silence stretches out and gets awkward even for her. “And she suggested…cross-dressing?”

Will makes a pained face. “Please don’t.”

And that’s something. Will almost never says  _ please _ , never really asks for anything if he can help it. “I’m sorry,” Bev says. “Um. Is there anything I can do to help?”

He shakes his head.

“I want you to be able to talk to me. I don’t want to step on something sensitive.”

They’ve had this discussion before. For someone with such a prickly personality, she’d thought Will would’ve been better about boundaries, but in fact he turned out to be the kind of person who would suffer through discomfort right until he couldn’t anymore. It’s taken a lot of coaxing (and, she thinks, Dr. Bloom) to get him to open up to the spectrum of possibilities between “rude” and “mirroring expectations.” 

He must pick up on her thoughts, because he hesitates before he says, “I don’t really know what it is. There’s just…a feeling. Alana tried to put a name to it, but I don’t—I don’t know if it fits.” He gazes into his coffee like it can give him the words he needs. “I’m sorry for going through your things. It felt weirder to think about buying them for me.”

“That’s fine.” She tries to think about what he might need versus what he might accept from her. “Well, whatever you decide is—it’s okay, it’s just you. And you don’t have to know right this second.”

He makes another face. Bev decides that’s the face he makes when he doesn’t want to be talking about how he identifies. Come to think of it, she’s never heard him say the word  _ bisexual _ in reference to himself, but she’s also caught him looking appreciatively at men, when he thinks no one else is watching. 

She categorizes the expression as “Uncomfortable But Not A Hard No.”

And then, because she can recognize discomfort when it’s a neon sign, she adds, “I can make waffles or French toast for breakfast, pick your poison.”

  
  


She buys him lingerie on her lunch break.

Okay, so not  _ sexy _ lingerie. She tries to imagine Will Graham in a silk teddy or lacy bralette, and her brain runs up against a wall. But she thinks about the look on his face in the mirror, before he’d realized she was there: soft and open, his fingers trailing over the panties on his hips. She’s worried that maybe since she caught him, he won’t try it again. Not the going through her clothes (she trusts his apology), but the experimentation. It makes something in her ache, the idea that he might just shut down a part of himself because he assumes it’s unwelcome—or worse, because it doesn’t seem useful. Like he’s only worth what he can do for someone else. 

So. Lingerie.

Or at least nightwear. She knows the brand of panties she likes best for comfort—cotton briefs with lace trim—and she can guess at Will’s size pretty easily. Just a few pairs, because maybe he won’t want them after all. Then she looks at sleep shirts. She finds one that’s not too obviously gendered: light blue, soft cotton, buttons halfway up the front. She adds another that’s a little more feminine—pale pale pink, scalloped cuffs, long enough to almost pass for a nightgown. 

Bev ships them all to his house in Wolf Trap. Will isn’t a fan of surprises, but she figures if he doesn’t like them, he can pretend she never bought them. Or maybe he can try them on in the comfort and privacy of his home.   
  


“So my parents want to know if you’d come over for dinner this weekend. Well, they asked if they’re ever going to meet my boyfriend, and I suggested dinner. I thought low-key might be more tolerable than waiting until next Thanksgiving.”

Will slants a look at her from where he’s chopping green onions. Neither of them are great cooks, but Bev can make a solid fried rice, and Will is good for most menial kitchen tasks. 

She concentrates on the lap cheong browning in the wok. “Is that okay? I can tell them you’re busy.”

He puts down the knife. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“I can’t tell them you left the country.”

“Bev.”

For a stomach-swooping second, she thinks he’s going to bring up the clothes. Has he gotten them yet? Is he mad she didn’t ask first? “Sorry.”

“Can you—“ Will clenches a fist, rests it on the counter. “Can you not call me your boyfriend?”

“…Okay.”

“I guess ‘partner’ is better. Unless that sounds too much like, like a long-term commitment.” He stares resolutely at the cutting board. “I don’t always feel like a guy.”

“Okay.” His frown deepens, and Bev feels a surge of panic. She’s not reacting properly, he’s going to think she’s upset instead of processing—and maybe she should have been practicing her reactions. “Thank you for telling me.” 

“Alana said I should talk to you about it.”

Bev nods. “I appreciate it.”

“Is that all?”

“Was there something else you wanted to say?”

“Not really.” Another stolen glance in her direction. “Are you…fine with this?”

“It’s still you.” 

“You don’t think it’s—weird?”

“No? It’s a part of you. I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me.” The smell of charring pork fat reminds her to stir the lap cheong. “Oh. Did you want me to use different pronouns?”

“Maybe. In private? I don’t really care, and I don’t want to explain to—to Zeller, or Jack—“

“That’s fine,” she interrupts. “Can you get the rice out of the fridge?”

He does. She dumps it into the wok. While he’s standing close enough, she leans over and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Hey. I love you.”

That gets her a small smile. “Love you, too.”

  
  


Will meets her parents and it’s fine. Mom is prepared to be disappointed over Bev dating a white guy, but Will at least is quiet and respectful, and he gets along with Dad because everyone does. Bev calls him her “partner,” the kind of detail her parents don’t think too much about but her sister will absolutely grill her on when he meets the whole family. That night in private she manages to use neutral pronouns while dirty talking Will and going down on him, and Will looks at her like she’s a miracle as he comes. 

She starts consciously changing the way she thinks about Will. It’s not that different from when they first met: adjustment from  _ unstable special agent _ to  _ actual person with interests and feelings _ . Except the shift is easier, because Will’s interests and feelings haven’t changed, Bev has just acquired new information. Still, even though he really doesn’t care about pronouns—he’s pleased when she uses neutral ones, but he doesn’t twitch with distaste if she uses masculine ones, either—Bev doesn’t want to fall into thinking of him as a cisgender man. That would be like when she told Mom about her diagnosis (excited to finally have an explanation, sailing on the sense of not being an outlier), and Mom responded with maternal condescension.  _ Yes, of course _ . Like it didn’t matter at all. 

Bev would hate for Will to feel like this part of him doesn’t matter.

So she moves toward neutral language. She thinks about what expectations she has around dating men and tries not to push those on Will. It’s somehow harder and easier than she might have thought. On the one hand, it’s not like they’re a super traditional couple: Bev pursued him, they maintain separate spaces, they don’t keep anniversaries. On the other hand, most guys she’s dated have been into penetrative sex, or they asserted themselves in little ways—paying for dinner, or being the one to drive whenever they were together. Things she’s only just noticing Will doesn’t do. Or did, back in the early days of their relationship, when he went through dates with a mechanical grimness, like playing a part. 

(That changed when they started having sex.)

Will isn’t playing a role now. Bev thinks maybe he’s been more vulnerable with her than anyone else he’s dated.

  
  


Bev stays at Wolf Trap the next weekend. Will is just as fidgety in his own home as he was the first time he slept over at hers, but at least he has all his dogs around him. She smiles, watching him throw sticks for them to chase while she unpacks the takeout. She knows from experience that the pack will mill about their legs while they eat, and that despite Will’s admonitions not to spoil them, she’ll sneak at least Buster a piece of shrimp or chicken.

After dinner, Bev offers to clean up and Will goes to take a shower. 

He comes back downstairs in the panties and blue sleep shirt.

Bev wolf whistles before she can think about it. Will blushes, running a hand through his curls. 

“It’s not—is this all right?”

“I’m thinking you don’t show off your legs enough.”

“Beverly.”

“You look good. Really.”

“I like these.” He thumbs at the eyelet lace on the briefs. 

“I figured if you felt weird getting them yourself, maybe I could…help.” She shrugs. “Did I overstep?”

He shakes his head. 

“I’m not like, angling for you to present more femme.”

“No, I got that.”

“Okay.” She moves closer, resting her hands on his hips and peering up at his face. He seems nervous, but he meets her gaze steadily. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide from me.”

“Trying not to. It’s, uh. Kind of a new concept.”

“I appreciate the effort.”

“Thanks.”

She plucks at the pearl buttons on his sleep shirt. “So, wanna make out?”

Will breathes a laugh, the shyness fading. “Sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Will never uses the term but i headcannoned this Will being nonbinary
> 
> 2) i feel the need to definitively state that Will genuinely does not have a preference for pronouns and isn't saying so just to make Bev comfortable. (this is me projecting: i identify as nb, and i'm fine with gendered pronouns. i dislike being slotted into social roles as Binary Gender, which has happened even from people who use they/them around me.) use the pronouns that trans and gnc people tell you to use! 
> 
> 3) general disclaimer that this isn't supposed to be, like, prescriptive. i wanted a nice fic about Will being nb. ymmv. 
> 
> 4) title from Ada Limón's "What It Looks Like To Us and the Words We Use"


End file.
